


Truce

by dirtgore



Category: No Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 10:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24349585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtgore/pseuds/dirtgore
Summary: Staring back at her own face, she realized just how far she had come. 12 years of abuse and neglect later and she was still standing.
Kudos: 1





	Truce

**Author's Note:**

> This is a really personal piece that was inspired by the song 'Truce' by Twenty One Pilots, hence the name. It's essiently my younger self speaking to my current self, my thoughts poured onto the paper. It's pretty heavy, so please use cautions when reading. I hope you can gain something from this.

Falling onto the cold hardwood floor, she felt her breath falling short in small raspy breaths. Chest heaving, clawing for another breath she couldn't quite get. An all too familiar feeling, one that she experienced time and time again, but never got fully used to.

She backed into the left hand corner of the room, the corner. She always prefered right over left, so why had this corner been so specific? Maybe it just wasn't fit, in a very fitting way. When things go wrong, you look in the wrong places for the wrong things. There was still a dent in the wall from where she had hit her head against it too hard, memories and secrets spilling out from the crack left over, taunting her.

She was starting to hyperventilate at this point, hands shaking violently as sobs wracked her body. She tried to squeeze herself into the corner as much as possible, willing the walls to swallow her whole. She was scared, and not for the usual reason this time. No, she wasn't scared of something, or rather someone. She was scared of her own head, her brain, the contents it held. All the memories, good and bad, all the experiences, everything she knew and everything she didn't know. All the questions left unanswered, things left unsaid. She didn't want to remember, didn't want to know what happened. Didn't want the painful reminders that went through it all, that she existed in that timeline.

There were times when she could forget. When she could distract herself long enough that she didn't feel the constant buzzing at the back of her skulls. She cherished those moments, savoring every last drop of blissful nothingness. It was nice, tranquil. She didn't feel anything in those moments, limbs feeling weightless as if she were floating through air. Her brain was empty, as if someone had turned the computer off but not the monitor, leaving nothing but a dark blue screen, indicating that it was still on, but nothing was happening in the background.

For a second she went away to that place, gone for a brief amount of time. But before she could even register that it happened, she was back, panic and fear flooding her body at twice the power. She was red hot, her face on fire, feeling like she was going to melt in a second. She ripped her sweatshirt off, violently panting as the anxiety induced heatstroke came through her body in waves. She threw it to the side, simultaneously never wanting to look at it again while also wanting to put it back on and hide in its thick fabric so no one could find her.

Everything gets worse before it gets better, and this was no different. She cried and cried for at least another hour, body not stopping until it was physically numb, brain made of tv static. Her breathing was jagged and irregular as she came down from the high, slowly untensing her muscles one by one. She had started to cool down, tear tracks on her face making a break in the bright red that were her cheeks. It wasn't all over though. She felt herself begin to cry again, only this time it was softer, quieter. A more depression fueled cry than panic. The tears flowed freely as she felt herself go limp, body hunched over from being tense from so long. A sort of after-math to the breakdown from before.

She stayed like that for a while before her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps, but not just any footsteps. They were ones she had never heard before. They weren't the heavy, clacking ones that she desperately feared, or the soft, light ones that she mildly dreaded. No, these were different. They were tiny and rapid, falling quickly and sounded like bare feet on the wooden dock at a beach. She looked up from where she hung her hair, holding her breath in anticipation and confusion. The footsteps stopped outside her door, and for a second it was quiet, the only noise being the quiet whir of the overhead fan. But then the doorknob turned, the door opening with a soft creak. In peered a pair of big round eyes, so dark you didn't know where the iris stopped and the pupil began, with the longest eyelashes you've ever seen, seeming to touch her just as dark eyebrows.

Those eyes were recognizable anywhere, because they were hers. Only hers were tainted by years of sleep loss and depression, losing the light that she now saw as they stared back at her. Standing adjacent from her, still standing cautiously in the doorway was none other than her younger self, no older than five.

The younger version blinked once, then twice, taking a half step inside as the older just stared back at her.

"Are you okay?"

And god wasn't that one hell of a question. She didn't answer, didn't need to. Just let out a suppressed sob and began to shake again. The younger came fully in, closing the door behind her carefully before padding over to her older selves' side, sitting down across from her and putting her tiny hands on the olders legs.

"Please don't cry" she whispered, gently grasping the older wrists and pulling them away from where she was covering her face. 

The older was wrecked, hair strewn from where she had tugged and ripped it out. Eyes red and puffy, raw from endless sobbing. Splotches of red here and there, still very visible like a neon sign pointing at her saying 'look at me! im a fucking mess!'.

She used her tiny hands and reached up, wiping away her counterparts' tears as best she could, giving a small smile to show her support, "You're okay, I promise."

That only prompted another strangled cry from the older, now using her arms to wrap around the smaller version and clutch onto her tightly, as if she left go she would die.

"I'm so sorry" the oldered cried, burying her head into the younger's shoulder and running one hand through her long dark hair that she had chopped off and ruined with chemicals years ago.

"It's okay, I promise" she reiterated. Wrapping her tiny arms around the olders neck.

'I promise' why did she always say that? She was horrible at keeping promises, why did she always make them? Was she trying to convince herself? Trying to trick herself into believing her own lies, as if she just kept saying it that it would come true? She didn't say anything in response, choosing to just take it as it is, even if she didn't believe it. Nothing was ever okay, that much was evident in looking at the stark difference between the two.

The younger was lively, full of hope and love and blind optimism. She wore bright clothes and seemed as if her skin was glowing with happiness. The latter however, was a direct contrast. She was pale, skin dull and boring. Her hands were rough, covered in callaces and scabs, nails completely chewed down. There were dark bags under her eyes, and they seemed to be sunken in, evidence of the years of sleep she had lost to nightmares and insomnia. Her lips seemed to be permanently fused into a frown, smiling seeming to be taking all of her energy and still clearly fake and forced. She wore the same baggy t-shirt and sweatpants she did every day, too depressed to change into anything else, and far too gone to even wash them, or even herself for that matter. She had long since given up, clearly exhausted and done trying, just waiting out her days.

Despite all this, the younger looked at her with stars in her eyes, as if she saw something in her worthwhile. She didn't shy away, or stare at her extremely unhealthy form. She didn't judge her, didn't scold her for all the things she had done wrong. Didn't look at her with shame or disappointment. She just held onto her, giving her reassurance, letting the older sob onto her shoulder, knowing everything that had happened, what she went through and why she was the way that she was. 

"Stay alive, stay alive for me." she whispered, and the older nodded once, and they held that between them, until the end of time.


End file.
